Project JS
by P99
Summary: An AU version of the prequels, offering a wildly different yet hopefully still palatable plot. It begins with the origin of Obi-Wan and continues up through his climactic confrontation with a fallen Anakin. This was written for fans of the original trilogy who feel disappointed with the prequels, but I hope that fans of all six movies will be able to appreciate it as well.
1. A Simple Test

"Clone designation OB-1, you are to arrive at testing chamber 3-B at 07:00."

The order came out from a loudspeaker mounted in the ceiling of the small room. A young boy sat in his bed with his back rigid. Looking at the clock, he noted the time was 06:45. He would have to leave now if he didn't want to be late. He looked over to his roommate, an Ithorian designated AR-4. They silently exchanged their farewells, both knowing what was to come. OB-1 attempted a smile, but his lips wouldn't stop trembling as he slid off of his bed and stood on the cold, sterile white floor. He slipped into a pale gray jumpsuit and shiny black boots, trying and failing to keep his hands from shaking as they worked. This would be his first time visiting the facility's third level, but he had heard stories from the others and had seen what happened to those who came back. The older subjects, those who had been to the third level many times, had been reduced to shells of what they once had been. But there was no fighting it. OB-1 left the room quietly, fighting to keep his emotions in check.

He walked down the long, narrow corridors, which were empty except for a few maintenance droids scurrying about to do their chores. There was nobody to talk to, nobody to stop him and ask why his face had twisted itself into an image of raw panic. He came across a single engineer, who quickly became very engrossed in his datapad. OB-1 thought he could feel pity coming from the man, although it was hard to tell with his own emotions roiling about inside him like a storm on Kamino.

The turbolift came into sight as he rounded a corner, and its door slid open as he approached. He stepped inside the cylindrical compartment and was greeted by a female voice, selected by the program's scientists for its soothing effect. It wasn't working very well at the moment.

"Greetings, clone OB-1. Current data indicates that your presence has been requested on the third level of the facility. Is this correct?"

"Yes." His reply came out louder than he had expected.

"Records indicate that this will be your first visit to the Advanced Testing Area. Please select a confection, courtesy of your testers." A small tray popped out from a slit in the wall, bearing a number of sugary treats. "For your taste palette, the Corellian truffle is advised."

He took the indicated candy and unwrapped it with his slender fingers. The tray slid back into the wall as he took a bite from the creamy truffle in his hand. The turbolift shuddered slightly as it began its descent into the belly of the facility. In the time it took for OB-1 to finish his truffle, the lift came to a halt and its doors slid open once more, revealing another austerely white hallway. He walked down the hall, quickly finding the correct room. The door opened automatically, and he was ushered inside by a woman wearing a white coat and holding a small holoprojector in her hand.

He was seated in a small chair, and electrodes were placed in a ring around his hairless head. The woman bent her knees, bringing her face down to his level.

"Now, this is going to be a simple test. What I'm going to do is go back there," she waved toward a wall of one-way transparisteel, "and look at an image coming from this holoprojector. All that you have to do is tell me what it is I'm seeing."

OB-1 nodded quietly, knowing he couldn't refuse. Before the woman stood up, she placed his wrists and ankles inside manacles protruding from the chair's arms and legs and snapped them shut. She then walked quickly behind the transparisteel barrier and spoke quietly into an audio-diary.

"Subject OB-1 is being tested in chamber 3-B for signs of telepathic ability. Subject age is five years, three months, one week and one day. Subject has shown no resistance as of yet, and appears to be stable. Test begins running at...07:02. Starting...now."

There was a faint series of beeps as the holoprojector powered on, and OB-1 felt a panicked chill run down his spine. There was something in the way she spoke—there was something she hadn't told him about this test.

"Image one is being viewed. OB-1, what do you see?"

His fear crystallized, and he looked wildly about the room, hoping to see some sort of clue. All he saw was the oppressive, medical white which coated the entire facility. No marks, no stains. Certainly nothing that would tell him what the woman wanted to hear. Fearing that she might grow impatient, he guessed blindly.

"A chair?"

"Wrong." There was a brief stinging sensation in the center of his forehead. "Try again."

"A cup?"

"Wrong." This time, it felt like he had walked into a wall. He tried to rub at the pain, but his wrist was shackled to the chair. "Try again."

"A door?"

"Wrong." An invisible hydrospanner smashed into his face, and he cried out in pain. His eyes became blurry with tears. "Try again."

"But I don't know! I don't know what it is!"

"Arguing won't help you." It felt like somebody had pointed a blowtorch at his head. He let out a deafening scream, leaving his throat sore when the pain faded. He was sweating now, and he could hear his heart pounding.

"Please, stop it..." He moaned, unable to put any strength into his words. He felt something reaching around his eyes, squeezing. He let out an animal scream, begging the pain to stop. He struggled against his bonds, his vision slowly fading away as the pressure continued to grow. His eyes went dark, and his entire being was reduced to the fire burning inside his skull. There was a single image left in his mind, which he was barely able to name.

"L...Li...Light...Light! Stop! It's a light! IT'S A LIGHT!"

The pain disappeared, leaving only a throbbing memory of what he had been feeling moments ago. He opened his eyes, and found that he could see again. His jumpsuit clung to his sweaty skin, and his breathing was ragged.

"Good. Image two is being viewed. What do you see?"

He closed his eyes, struggling to calm himself. He forced his breathing to slow down, and concentrated. He thought back to what had happened before, trying to remember what it was he had done. When he found it, he spoke with certainty.

"A blaster."

"Good. Image three is being viewed. What do you see?"

"A nerf."

"Good. Image fo—"

"A wookie."

"Very good."

There was another series of beeps coming from behind the transparisteel, and the woman walked back into his sight while speaking into her audio-diary.

"Subject appears to have telepathic ability. Mild stimulation was sufficient. Experiment ends at...07:10. Make a note to add subject to the advanced testing track. Entry end."

She placed the device into her coat pocket and bent down to unlock the manacles pinning OB-1 to the chair. Once he was free, he reached up and tore the electrodes from his head, hearing a staccato of popping noises as they came free.

"Congratulations on completing your first test. I hope to see you again soon, OB-1."

He glared at her in response, having learned by now that words meant nothing to the scientists here. He turned around and stormed out of the room, not waiting to be granted leave. He stood in sullen silence while the turbolift brought him back up to the residential level of the facility, then ran to his room as fast as his feet could carry him. He flung himself on his bed and cried. AR-4 watched in sympathy, but also in fear. His turn was in two weeks.


	2. Friendly Execution

OB-1 entered into testing chamber 3-R, the room specially constructed for members of the advanced testing program. After seven years, this was to be his final visit to the third level. Today was the day they would decide his future. He was oddly calm, considering what was about to take place.

He noted that this room was considerably larger than the other testing chambers. He estimated it had about 10,000 square meters of floor space, and its ceiling looked to be about thirty meters from the floor. The room was perfectly empty. There were no scientists or engineers, not even any of the maintenance droids which seemed to be everywhere in the facility. He saw a single black bar which ran along the entire perimeter of the room, fixed to the wall at a height of about 1.5 meters. It appeared to be some sort of camera, although he was unsure why his testers weren't observing him personally. That had always been the case in the past—they had felt it necessary to watch with their own eyes as they tortured him with neural current whenever he failed at a task or refused to obey. He saw no reason for them to change that habit now.

The door slid shut behind him and he could hear a lock click in place. He reached out, probing for any life in the nearby vicinity. He felt nothing. He was truly alone, being guarded by nothing more than a bank of cameras and a locked door. If he didn't know that freedom waited for him at the end of this test, he wouldn't have hesitated to break down the door and run. He was surprised that they placed so much trust in a test subject who had repeatedly been reported for "defiance". That was what they had chosen to call it when he snapped the neck of the woman who had wanted to test how well he could resist various types of poison.

The lights in the chamber powered down, and OB-1 was left in total darkness. He kept his breath even, knowing that they would likely be observing his biometrics throughout the test. He stood waiting for some sort of instruction, trying not to wonder what it was they didn't want him to see. Walking slowly forward, he listened to the rhythmic sound of his booted feet clicking against the metallic floor. It was a familiar sound, soothing. As he approached the center of the room, he felt his heart begin to slow. He breathed deeply and crossed his arms in a posture of complacency. When he stopped walking, he felt ready for whatever would come.

He felt a faint tingling in the back of his mind, and he let himself be carried by instinct. His head tilted to the side, narrowly avoiding a bolt of energy which lit the chamber for the briefest of moments. He let the realization that he was being shot at slide across his mind, noting the thought but giving it no weight. He hadn't survived these experiments for this long by letting himself get distracted.

More blaster bolts followed, which he continued to avoid by mere centimeters. One seared across his left arm, burning through the jumpsuit and leaving a painful burn streaking across his bicep. He gritted his teeth and pushed the pain aside, knowing that he could not afford to tend to his injuries now. His arm still moved—the shot had just grazed him.

A flurry of blaster fire came at him from the left, and he dropped prone. One of the bolts bit at his calf, and he could smell cooked meat. He had cut off his ability to feel pain after his first injury, but he could still tell that this one was worse. He pushed himself to his feet and felt his leg give way beneath him. He rolled away from another burst, this time feeling an impact in his side. He turned his attentions inward just long enough to make sure that no vital organs had been injured.

Realizing that he wouldn't survive much more of this test, OB-1 began crawling toward the entrance. A stray shot burned a hole through one of his hands, rendering it useless. He kept dragging himself forward with his good arm, not ready to surrender to death's embrace.

Another bolt struck him in the shoulder, and the wall he had built between himself and his pain finally collapsed. He had just enough time to register the immense agony he was in before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

He awoke in the sick bay, feeling the numbness in his limbs that came with cheap anesthesia. There were wires leading from his arm to diagnostics equipment, although he was unsure what most of the numbers it was listing meant. He looked down at his hand through a medicated fog, seeing bright pink skin where he remembered being shot. He made a fist, noting with pleasure that he had no trouble with the gesture. A high-pitched beep came from the foot of his bed, and a medical droid walked hurriedly to his side.

"Hello there, sir. I'm glad to see that you're finally awake. The doctor was concerned that you might not have healed in time—I'll fetch him now."

OB-1 sat himself up as the droid walked away, the poorly lubricated joints of its legs whirring loudly in its wake. He closed his eyes briefly as he forced himself to remember what had happened, then opened them again to see how well his other injuries had healed.

His arm, shoulder, and side wounds had all been nicely replaced with new skin, leaving them tender but fully healed. His leg, however, looked like it would require further work. The bolt had gone through the thickest part of his calf, cutting clean through. He peeled back the bandage covering one of the holes, and saw that the wound was being held open so that the muscle underneath could be reconstructed. He had received a similar injury once before, when they had tested his affinity for telekinesis by firing primitive weapons at him and ordering him to stop them with his mind. He had been strapped in place, so that he couldn't move. He had also been eight years old.

The sound of the medical droid's neglected leg joints warned OB-1 of its return, and he quickly covered his body with the bed sheet and lay down again. He turned his head to see Doctor Moor conversing with the droid. They were speaking in muted tones, but the sick bay was quiet and he knew how to hear sounds that other humans couldn't. It was one of the few abilities he had that his testers hadn't been able to discover.

"Which one is this again? Who is the original, I mean."

"Jedi Ken Obi, doctor. A male human, residing on Dantooine and—"

"That's enough, thank you. I just needed the name. He's one of that lot, right?"

"Correct, sir."

"Well," Moor spoke up now, giving OB-1 a mock salute. "You took quite a beating during that last test of yours. Good thing you woke up when you did—they're announcing the results for that series of tests tomorrow."

"Why should I care about the results?" OB-1 had asked the question casually, knowing that the results would mean nothing to him once he was allowed to leave. There was a hint of guardedness in Moor's expression as he responded, however.

"Oh, no reason. You'll be gone soon anyway, right?"

"Right." He touched the doctor's mind, gleaning the true meaning of his words. When he had discovered what he had been looking for, he couldn't stop the horror he felt from spreading across his face. Luckily, Moor misinterpreted the reason for his sudden change in disposition.

"Oh, don't worry. You'll do fine once you're out of here. They'll make sure you get taken care of."

"Right, taken care of..." OB-1 felt heard a buzzing sound. His head started to spin, and he could feel himself starting to lose consciousness.

When he awoke once more, he was seated in a reclining hoverchair. It was carrying him down a hallway, flanked by two engineers. They steered the hoverchair into the main turbolift, going up to the residential level. They escorted him to the cafeteria, which had been reconfigured into a makeshift auditorium. He was brought to a line of other clones, all of whom had been scheduled to leave the program at the same time as him. Suddenly remembering what he had learned from Doctor Moor, he bolted upright. The sudden movement made him nauseous, and he had to fight to keep from heaving. He turned to warn the others, but realized as he was opening his mouth that they were not alone. Standing opposite to their lineup was a cluster of coat-wearing beings: their testers.

"Now, I'm sure that you know already why we have brought you all here." The man addressing them was Klin Var, head researcher of the project. His voice was gravelly and his hair had almost completely fallen out.

"The twelve of you have completed the battery of tests prepared for you by this facility, providing us with invaluable data and insight into the operation of Force-using beings. You have done us a great service, but it is time for us to part ways. Your part in Project JS has come to an end. You will each be provided with housing and funding sufficient for living expenses until you reach an age when you are legally employable. We have gathered you here to thank you, officially, for your service before seeing you off. And so, we thank you."

A round of applause came from the group of scientists, although it sounded empty to OB-1. They handed out pieces of flimsiplast with printed calligraphy congratulating them for their achievement. Once the ceremony was finished, they were ushered out of the cafeteria and told to gather their personal effects before leaving. The first nine left, with the door closing before OB-1 or the other two could leave.

"Now, you three are another matter. I've received a number of reports which deem you all to be quite defiant. You will still be allowed to leave, of course, but we will need to put you through a processing program first. It won't take long—it's just a simple matter of providing a little bit of neural repression, to make sure that you don't go and do anything...unsightly. It should be over quickly; it's a very simple procedure. If you would kindly follow the technicians waiting outside, you can be done with it and be on your way."

The door opened once more, and there were six men waiting outside. The other two went quickly, spurred on by the promise of being released despite their behavior. OB-1 hesitated, not wanting to go. He knew where these men would take him, and he knew what would happen to him there. They approached him after a moment, and used a magnetic harness to steer his hoverseat for him. He was dragged through the doorway, desperately trying to formulate a plan.

His sedatives were beginning to wear off, he noted as a dull throbbing started up in his injured leg. He focused on the pain, using the sensation to burn away the fog that his anesthetics had left in his mind. It gave him the clarity he needed to think. The turbolift was drawing near, and he had to act before it brought him down to the third level. It would be over then—he would have no way of escaping.

Seeing that both technicians had their backs to him, he stuck his finger into his mouth, jabbing at his uvula. His eyes bulged as he heaved, leaving a smelly green puddle on the floor. The technicians turned around, one of them cursing. The other walked off to call a maintenance droid to clean up the spill. Once he had walked out of sight, OB-1 lashed out at the man who had stayed behind. An invisible wave lifted the foul-mouthed technician off the floor and smashed him into a wall hard enough to audibly break bones.

A bout of dizziness assaulted OB-1 as he struggled to steer his hoverchair down the hall. His vision spun for a few brief moments before he felt in control once more, and he had to jerk violently to the side to avoid running into a wall. He spat as he hovered forward, trying to remove the bitter taste of bile from his mouth.

Behind him, he heard someone shouting for security. He let out an angry hiss as he swerved down the halls in search of some way to escape. He urged the hoverchair to go faster, but it would only move at the speed of a brisk walk. There were marching feet behind him now, and he turned his head just long enough to see four armed men chasing after him. He turned around the nearest corner and spied an air duct hanging from the ceiling. He used the Force to rip off the grating to the duct, and got into a crouching position as he slowed the hoverchair to a stop beneath the duct.

He jumped, ignoring the scream of pain he felt in his still-healing muscles. Using the Force to propel him upward, he caught hold of something sharp inside the duct's head and pulled himself in. He then lifted the grate back into place and nudged the control on the hoverchair, propelling it forward and sending it down the nearest turn. The marching troops ran beneath the duct about ten seconds later, too busy chasing the sound of the hoverchair to think that he might no longer be riding it.

OB-1 heaved a sigh of relief and looked down at his hands. Bright red lines had appeared on his palms, dripping blood onto the sheeted metal beneath his feet. He flexed his fingers, ensuring that they all still bent properly. When he was convinced that the injuries to his hands were only superficial, he began crawling down the duct toward the source of a dull revving sound.

The sound he was following grew louder and louder, until it was a deafening roar. Eventually, he found what was causing it: a large filtration system which was blowing cold air in his face. It blocked the duct off completely, barring his path.

He inhaled sharply and thrust his hand out, pushing against the intricate machine with all the brute force his mind could muster. After a few seconds of straining, he heard the crunching sound of the filter's inner workings beginning to give way. A few seconds more, and the outer plating began to buckle. With a final, great screech, the entire filter was flung forward. There was a flash of light, and OB-1 felt the rest of his strength leave him. He dropped to the floor, feeling relief as the darkness overtook him.


	3. Brief Respite

OB-1 woke up moaning, feeling an ache that ran through his entire body. His chest began to spasm as he coughed violently, nearly choking on a thick cloud of dust that had found its way inside the air duct. His eyes stung and he could feel a trail of mucus running down the back of his throat. Sitting up, he stared blankly at the scene which was spread out before him.

There was a filmy soup of particles hanging in the air, giving the appearance of fog. The sounds of distant machinery echoed faintly in his ears. Outside the duct, he could see walls of rusted metal covered in dark stains. The ground, about three meters below him, was barely visible beneath a layer of decomposing food and discarded packaging. There were puddles visible, although he was almost certain that they didn't contain any water. There was a soggy, rancid smell permeating the air. A soft red glow coated everything in sight, coming from fixtures hanging haphazardly on the rust-eaten walls.

OB-1 crawled to the edge of the duct, looking down at the litter-covered ground beneath. There was a small pile of rotting fruit almost a straight drop down, which he decided he would use to cushion his fall. He lowered himself slowly, hanging by his hands. A burning pain reminded him of the cuts on his palms, and a wet trickle running down his arm stated that they had opened again. He released his hold on the metallic ledge, willing his body to relax. He let his legs collapsed as he hit the ground, and felt a sharp pain shoot out from his blaster injury.

Standing up hesitantly, he tested his leg for strength. It hurt to put his full weight on it, but he would be able to manage. He looked down at himself and saw that he was covered in putrid fruit juices and that small, maggot-like creatures were wriggling around in the multicolored stew. He wiped away what he could with his arms, realizing as he did so that he was still wearing his sick bay clothes. Limping forward with his back bare, he began wandering into the sea of dust before him. He wasn't looking for anything in particular—he didn't know what it was that he needed to look for.

As he pushed his way through the cloud, he began to make out markings on the rusted walls. The hand-scrawled notices directed him to the door of a cantina named Gray Eats. He stepped inside and was greeted by a large being covered in thick, gray fur. It stared at him for a moment with its four eyes before thrusting a clawed hand toward him. He flinched, despite feeling no ill intent coming from the creature. When the extended claw had been left hovering between them for a moment, he regained his bearings and offered his hand as well. It was engulfed in a ball of fur as the creature's claw grasped and shook his hand enthusiastically. It let out a buzzing sound from a tubelike protrusion on its face—not all that different from an insect's proboscis, OB-1 decided.

"Master Lokar greets you heartily, good sir," a silvery protocol droid piped up as it wobbled out of the hairy giant's shadow. "He sincerely hopes that your fortune is better than your appearance...I do apologize for his lack of tact."

"What is it? He, I mean." He corrected himself as he ogled at the droid. Its shiny plating seemed so out of place in the cantina's shadowy interior. There was another series of buzzes, and OB-1's hand was released from Lokar's tight grip.

"Master Lokar is a Talz, good sir. He asks if you would care for a bath before eating. Our refresher isn't very modern I'm afraid, but I would advise you take up his offer. Those fleshworms are looking rather hungry."

"Fleshworms!?" His eyes widened at what the name implied. "Where's the sonic shower?"

"Oh, we don't have a sonic shower, I'm afraid. Just a low-pressure, water-based shower like the ones on third-world planets. This far from the upper levels, nobody can afford anything more than that."

"What do you—never mind. Where is it?" OB-1 could swear that he could feel the worms beginning to wriggle their way into his skin. He let out an involuntary shudder before the droid answered.

"Go through that door over there, and you should find the refresher at the end of the hall. If you don't mind, sir, might I attend to your clothes while you bathe?" The droid's question chased after OB-1, already halfway down the indicated hallway. He shouted back in inarticulate approval as he tore the heavy, hinged door open and jumped inside the refresher. He slipped out of his sick clothes quickly and stopped as he realized that nothing in this room looked familiar to him. The refreshers in the testing facility had been outfitted with sleek, plasteel fixtures, while what he was now looking at appeared to be made of glazed clay.

The crawling sensation on his skin returned, and he jumped inside the shower. He turned the dial beneath the showerhead quickly, pushing its needle well into the bar of red which he assumed indicated hot water. A bucket of icy liquid doused him instead, and he let out a yelp.

"Is anything the matter, sir?" The hinges to the door squealed as the droid opened it and walked inside to retrieve his clothes.

"The water's cold."

"Oh, it gets warmer, sir. Just give it time. The cabinet by the sink should have everything you'll need to dry off when you're done. If you need anything while you're in here, simply call."

OB-1 grunted in response, and the droid left. By now, the water was beginning to be bearable. He let the water run over him for a few minutes before realizing that the grime wasn't leaving his skin like it should. He looked down at his wet skin for a moment, and then it hit him. Water. He was washing with water. He needed to use something else, something to help wash off what the water couldn't. He scanned over the line of tubes sitting on the shower's shelf, trying to remember the term for what it was he needed. Soap. He reached for the properly labeled tube and squirted a generous glob of translucent goo onto his palm before rubbing it in vigorously.

When he had finished cleaning himself, he stepped out of the shower and peered into the cabinet the droid had mentioned. After staring blankly at its contents for several long seconds, he realized that the folded pieces of cloth were meant to be used to dry off. It seemed an inefficient method, but everything about this refresher seemed strange to him.

Wrapping the now-soggy fabric around his waist, OB-1 stepped out of the refresher and called for the droid. It whirred its way over to him, inquiring what he needed.

"How long until my clothes are clean?"

"Oh, they should be ready for you in a few minutes. Although, I couldn't help but notice that they don't conform to what most humans would consider to be modest. If you would rather, an old spacer left his luggage here some time ago and never returned for it. They would be a little large on you, but master Lokar certainly has no use for them. Would you care to try them on, if I haven't offended?"

"No, some real clothes would be nice." He had forgotten for a moment that he had arrived wearing a backless robe. The droid led him to a small, dimly lit closet and handed him a heavy bantha-hide case.

"The combination is 1-2-3-4. Its previous owner wasn't the most intelligent being I have ever met. Feel free to change in the—oh, my."

OB-1 was already slipping into a pair of baggy microgarments, and the droid's photoreceptors seemed to grow wider at the sight. He ignored its reaction and finished dressing himself, needing to wrap a long belt around his waist twice in order to hold up the loosely hanging slacks. Rolling back the sleeves and pant-legs, he snapped the case shut and handed it back to the droid.

"I was under the impression that dressing in front of others was considered rather crass among humans." The mechanical voice sounded as though it were offended, and OB-1 grinned.

"I'm used to not having much privacy, and I don't think droids count toward that rule anyway. It's not like you're going to get aroused, after all."

"Oh? Well, that's a rather interesting way of looking at it. At any rate," the droid seemed anxious to steer the conversation in a new direction. "I'm sure that master Lokar is almost finished preparing a meal for you. If you would please follow me."

He followed the droid back into the front room of the cantina and sat down at a small table coated with sticky, yellowish-brown stains. Lokar lumbered over and placed a steaming bowl before him, buzzing faintly as he did so.

"Mynock stew, sir. Also, master Lokar wanted me to ask: will you be paying with credits, or were you planning on making a trade of some kind? I couldn't help but notice that you had no money in your pockets."

OB-1 frowned in confusion. "Pay? Trade? What do you mean?"

"Well, we can't simply give you food with no charge. Master Lokar may be generous, but even he knows that that's no way to run a business."

"Oh. Um...I don't really have anything to offer you."

Lokar leaned forward and made an inquisitive sound. "Master Lokar wishes to know why a human as young and healthy as yourself is alone on the lower levels, and with no money at that. I must admit, I myself am rather curious as well."

"Well...Let's just say that I ran away from home." He didn't know much about the project he had been a part of, but he knew that it was kept secret from the outside world and he knew that clones were generally seen as lesser citizens. Best to keep quiet about his past for now, he decided.

There was more buzzing, which the droid quickly translated. "What was it that made you run away?"

"They..." there was a pit in his stomach as he answered. "They were going to kill me. If I hadn't run, then I would be dead by now. They didn't need me anymore, and I was too much of a loose cannon for them to leave alone."

"That sounds like...a very unusual home, sir."

"It was." His voice was a whisper now, and he felt his face begin to twist and turn with emotion as he fought to keep the memories of his countless tests and evaluations out of his head. Most of the others had died, and there had been times that he had wished for even that kind of release. The white coats of the facility's scientists had become an omen of horror over the twelve years he had spent locked away for their amusement.

Now, Lokar's voice seemed to have a pitiful tone to it. The sound pulled OB-1 back into the present, and he looked at the Talz, trying to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching.

"Master Lokar says that there is no need to worry about payment. And he would also like to offer you a job here in the cantina. He needs someone to help with cleaning, and he can offer you food and shelter in return."

He felt the pressure building for a moment and tried to suppress it, but it came too quickly. He dropped his head into his hands, sobbing into them. A furry hand patted his head, feeling warm and soft on his bare skin. The sound of Lokar's buzzing was soothing to him now, and after giving one final sob, he felt the tears begin to slow. He looked up to the gray-haired face before him, and gave his answer in a hoarse whisper.

"Thank you."


	4. A New Name

When he had finished eating, OB-1 was shown to the small room where he would sleep. It had a single light fixture which flickered every few seconds, and the only furniture was a small, worn-out pallet sagging in the corner. There were insects scurrying about the floor, crawling into cracks in the floorboards. Lokar left him alone to clear out the dust that had settled during the room's disuse. A short time later, the droid came by to check in on him.

"How is the cleaning coming along, sir?"

"I'm almost done, um..." he faltered for a moment, realizing that he didn't know what to call the droid. "Sorry, what's your model number?"

"I am B-3PX, although nobody has called me that for years. My previous master gave me the moniker Sparky, and it has stuck with me ever since."

"Sparky? Why'd he call you that?"

"My previous master was something of a drunk, and he was prone to spilling his liquor onto my exposed circuitry. If you don't mind my asking, what is your name?"

"Don't have one."

"Oh? Well then, what do people call you?"

"My designation number: OB-1."

"A human with a designation number? How queer. But then, I suppose it's no stranger than a droid with a name."

OB-1 swept up the last of the dust, looking around the room and feeling a sense of accomplishment in seeing its dirt- and insect-free floor. He stood the tool that Lokar had given him—called a broom, if he remembered correctly—in the corner of the room and began to smooth out the lumpy pallet by hand. Sparky spoke up from behind him, its mechanical voice sounding strange somehow.

"If you phoneticize your designation, it sounds and looks identical to a name commonly used on the planet Stewjon. Obi-Wan translates into Basic as 'wondrous sound'. Giving that name to one's child was once thought to grant them the favor of the gods. If you don't have a name, why not make that one yours? It's already what you call yourself, just written differently."

He turned around and faced the droid with a grin on his face. "Wondrous sound, huh? I like it. Thanks, Sparky."

"It was my pleasure, Obi-Wan." There was a special emphasis placed on the name, and the droid bowed before turning to leave. As it was passing through the threshold, it stopped and turned around once more.

"One thing I forgot to mention: that name was thought not only to grant the favor of the gods, but it also labeled the child as a champion of the gods. It's a very large name to live up to. I wish you the best of luck in doing so."

* * *

Late that night, Obi-Wan awoke in a cold sweat. Something was wrong. This was the same feeling he had felt so many times before, at the hands of mechanically emotionless scientists for the sake of their twisted experiments. It was blind, instinctive fear. They were coming.

Sitting bolt-upright, he tore off his sheets and cast about the pitch-black room, feeling a phantom pressing against his naked chest and making it hard to breath. He stumbled off of his pallet and ran to the light switch, illuminating the empty room and revealing nothing more threatening than a few spiders that were searching for a meal. The fear was still there.

He threw his door open and barreled down the unlit hallway, running into the cantina's serving area. Lokar was behind the serving counter wiping a glass with a dirty rag, looking at him with an expression he could only guess the meaning of. Sparky was powered down, folded into a seated position and plugged into an outlet in the wall. He looked around wildly, expecting to see men wearing lab coats hiding in the shadows and holding electroprods, ready to subdue him like an unruly animal. He saw nothing unusual, but his fear would not subside.

There was a knock at the door, and Obi-Wan dove behind one of the booth-style seats. Lokar rose to answer the door, and he watched on from his hiding place. At the door were two men wearing skintight black suits and carrying blasters at their sides. Lokar straightened his back as they entered in, standing over two and a half meters tall. The visitors seated themselves at a table for two, one of them looking up and coolly meeting Lokar's gaze.

"I apologize for intruding so late after your hours of business, but my partner and I are looking for someone—a fugitive. A young human male, a little over a meter tall, no hair. Have you seen anyone fitting that description? It would have been sometime today."

Lokar let out a deep, intimidating buzz. The man smiled at him. "Well then, you surely would have no issue with us making sure you don't have any...unwanted guests?"

Lokar replied again, his voice rising. "Oh, come now. This deep into Coruscant's belly, and you're asking to see a warrant? Very well. Paq, show him proof of our authority."

The second human drew his blaster, hefting it in one hand. Lokar lowered his head, all four eyes squinting at the armed man. The one who had been doing the talking kept on smiling steadily at the Talz, standing up and slowly beginning to walk in Obi-Wan's direction. Lokar lashed out with a hairy claw, striking the man in the back of the head. The man's eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor with a thud. Lokar turned to face the man with the blaster, but it was too late. There was the sound of blasterfire, and Lokar staggered back. Another shot dropped his body to the floor, and the gunman walked over to plant a boot onto Lokar's chest as he took aim for one last shot, right between his two lower eyes. Obi-Wan watched on in horror as Lokar's body twitched and smoke began to rise from his face. The man holstered his blaster, looking down at the gray-furred corpse in disgust.

"Kriffing Talz."

The man's cursing gave finality to the scene Obi-Wan beheld. It cemented Lokar's death into an undeniable reality. Lokar, who had fed and clothed him, who had offered him work and a place to live. The image burned itself into his mind: Lokar, shot dead because of him.

Letting a guttural cry rise from his throat, he leaped out from behind the booth and thrust out his hand. Lokar's killer was thrown backward, knocked off his feet by a burst of telekinetic energy. He tumbled over a table, landing with a sickening crunch. Obi-Wan felt a fire flowing through his veins, and he reached out with his mind to tear the man's blaster from his hip and into his open palm. He approached the man slowly, watching as he struggled to sit himself upright. Jamming the blaster's tip beneath the man's chin, he watched as the man's pupils dilated in fear.

"Congratulations: you found me." He pulled the trigger, and the man slumped forward silently. He stood up after unbuckling the man's holster, and snapped it around his waist. He walked back to his room and retrieved a shirt, pulling it down over his head and returning to the front room. He searched the two men for identification, finding nothing except for a single scar on each of their chests. It was the scar left by a procedure undergone by every member of Project JS: they were outfitted with chips that would alert the project's security team of the individual's death, as well as give the individual's current location. They had tried to give him one, but he had removed it himself and killed the next surgeon they assigned to give him the procedure.

Knowing that he wouldn't have much time before reinforcements arrived, he grabbed a fistful of credit chips from behind the serving counter and stepped outside. He considered taking Sparky with him for a moment, but the droid's charge was low and it would be too heavy for him to carry. Giving a silent farewell to the closest thing he had to a friend, he stepped outside. The door slid shut behind him, and he began trudging down the sludge-laden streets in search of some form of escape.

After walking aimlessly for hours, he came across a large turbolift shaft. Its entrance was guarded by two sentry droids, already tracking him with their weapons as he approached. For some reason, he felt as if he had no other choice than to board this lift. Somehow, he knew that there would be no other way to escape the men who would be following him. One of the droids spoke to him in a hypermasculine voice after stepping forward and barring his path.

"This turbolift is off-limits to all unauthorized persons. You have ten seconds to vacate the premises, or you will be terminated." Its words were punctuated by the whining sound of its body-mounted blasters priming themselves for firing. Obi-Wan looked at the metallic sentinels warily, noting that they had sections of missing armor plating. His fingers itched to pull the blaster from its holster and make good on that observation, but it would be impossible for him to destroy both droids before getting shot down himself.

"What authorization do I need?" He posed the question to buy himself time to come up with a plan. The droid rambled on about government paperwork, but he ignored it and took stock of his options.

A shootout wouldn't end well for him, and he doubted he could use his powers to destroy an armored combat droid. The turbolift doors were only three meters away—close enough that he could probably make a run for it—but they were shut and he didn't know what level the lift itself was on at the moment. Although, he realized, he didn't necessarily need to know that. Keeping his hands by his side, he reached out with the Force and pressed the call button on the turbolift's control panel. He realized that the droid had finished speaking and was now watching him expectantly.

"Um...is there any way for me to get that kind of registration right here?" He kept his eyes on the droid, but watched the door out of the corner of his eye. He would only have one chance at this.

"As I have already said, procuring the proper permissions requires you to go to the—" the droid stopped as the door behind it opened. Obi-Wan dashed past the first droid, lashing out at the second with a burst of energy that knocked it off-balance long enough to let him run through the turbolift door and jab blindly at the shut-door button. A salvo of blaster bolts scorched the wall next to him before the door glided shut. He punched the button for the highest level he could find, and the turbolift rocketed upward as blaster bolts pounded against the door. When the noise of weapon fire faded, Obi-Wan slumped against the wall in relief.

The digits on the control board's display ticked upward rapidly, rising from 1450 to 1600 in under a minute. By the time the display read 1700, the numbers were rising too rapidly for him to follow. After about seven minutes, the turbolift began to slow. When the door opened, the display read 5019.

Obi-Wan stepped out into something he had never experienced before: natural sunlight. It felt warm and welcoming as he walked onto the platform outside, and he relished the sensation. He took in a deep breath, smelling the scents of dozens of exotic cuisines floating out from nearby eateries. He was so exhilarated, that he almost failed to notice how starkly it contrasted with the gloomy underworld he had been in mere minutes before. Here, it seemed that there could be nothing of danger to him.

There was a starship rising up from behind a nearby building, and Obi-Wan realized suddenly why it was that he had felt the need to get on that turbolift. The memory of his time in the sick bay returned to him, and he saw a name written out in the air before him by the pen of his mind: Ken Obi. He was going to Dantooine to find his father.


	5. New Beginning

The thrumming of the hyperdrive was beginning to fade, and Obi-Wan was thrown to the floor by turbulence. He was stowing away in the cargo bay of a transport ship, and this was the third stop it had made over the course of its trip. He had been able to buy off the crew hand who had stumbled across him, giving the credits he had taken from Lokar's cantina in exchange for his silence and a steady supply of food.

He could feel a presence approaching the bay door, so he staggered upright and managed to fling himself behind one of the cargo crates before the door slid open. The captain of the ship, a middle-aged man with two blasters strapped across his chest, stepped over to the cargo bay manifest and made a clicking sound with his tongue. Two large, scaly crewmembers followed him in and carried one of the crates out of the bay. The captain followed them out, growling that anything they broke would be coming out of their pay. The turbulence had stopped by now, and Obi-Wan slipped over to the monitor the captain had just been viewing. According to the ship's logs, they had reached Dantooine.

He switched back over to the cargo list, noting that the ship's only crate of Alderaanian silk was to be delivered on this stop, among other things. He had taken the time during his days aboard the ship to memorize where each cargo was contained, and he popped open the crate containing bolts of smooth, reflective fabric. Climbing inside, he closed the lid over himself and waited.

A few minutes later, he was being jostled around as the two crewmembers from before carried him down the corridor and out of the ship. His crate was set down, and he could hear the muted sounds of conversation outside. He stretched out with his other senses, and could feel the two crewmen returning to the ship while two other individuals—likely the captain and his customer—stood nearby and spoke to one another. After a short exchange, the captain walked away as well. A few minutes later, he could hear the dull roar of the ship's engines through the transparisteel casing.

No longer concerned about being discovered by the captain or his crew, Obi-Wan kicked his crate open and stepped out into the open air. There was a shocked-looking Rodian staring at him, its mouth quivering as it tried to make sense of what it was seeing.

"I'm looking for a Jedi. Do you know where I can find Ken Obi?"

"I don't know that one," the Rodian replied, "but the Jedi settlement is about five klicks south of here. But never mind that—just what in blazes are you doing in my cargo? You didn't take anything, did you? Is Tag trying to scam me again?"

"No, no. I didn't take anything. I just needed to get to Dantooine, and I didn't have the money to pay for transport..."

"Oh, so you're a stowaway. Well, get lost. You're not getting any freebies out of me. Go on, shoo." The Rodian waved him away, and Obi-Wan shrugged in response.

He followed the directions the Rodian had given him, arriving at a large, walled-off settlement. He got to the gate and was met by a pair of children with braided hair wearing cream-colored tunics. They looked at him with a shared expression of both confusion and awe. One of them stepped forward to greet him.

"Hello, I'm Padawan Var, and this is Padawan Trix. Who are you, and what business do you have here?"

"My name is Obi-Wan, and I am here to meet Jedi Ken Obi."

"Ken Obi? Are you sure?" The other child, Trix, questioned him.

"Yes, I'm sure. Can I find him here?"

"Um...follow me. Please." Trix waved his hand, opening the stone door he had been guarding and walking through. Obi-Wan followed him down a brick path flanked by flowerbeds and impeccably pruned bushes. There was a river flowing in the distance, its babbling waters barely audible over the sounds of various birds chirping in the air above. The path led to an open-air stone structure containing several beings of various species. One of them, a dark-skinned human, looked in his direction as he approached.

"It appears we have a visitor."

"I present Obi-Wan. He claims to be looking for Master Ken Obi."

"Thank you, Trix. You may return to your post."

The child bowed deeply and turned to leave Obi-Wan alone to face the beings before him. They sat in a semicircle of cushioned seats, each of them eyeing him with weary faces. He took a step forward before addressing them, feeling for some reason that he should show these individuals his respect.

"I am looking for a Jedi by the name of Ken Obi. Do you know where I might find him?"

One of the seated individuals, a small green creature with pointed ears, answered him with a throaty reply. "One with the Force, Master Obi has become. Three years ago, it was. Why do you seek him?"

"I'm his...his son, from a certain point of view." He couldn't lie outright to these people, but he didn't want to give his true identity away.

"Oh? Quite the resemblance, there is. Tell me, from what point of view are you his son? Took an oath of celibacy, he did."

"Well, I...um..."

"Come on, boy. Speak up." The dark man addressed him again, looking at him with a gaze that allowed no room for disagreement. "How exactly are you related to Ken Obi?"

"I'm...his clone."

"What? The clone of a Jedi? This is unheard of! It's forbidden." Another one of the seated beings, a Kel Dor, spoke up. A breath mask obscured his face, but Obi-Wan could feel contempt radiating from him.

"His clone, you say? Aware of your creation, was he?" The green one spoke again, chewing on the stem of a wooden pipe.

"No. I...We were created without the knowledge of our progenitors. I was part of a program to clone Jedi. I don't know why, but we were bred in secret."

"Like to know why, would you?" All eyes suddenly focused on the small green being.

"What do you mean? How would you know?"

"You say you do not know why you were created in secret, but what you mean is that you do not know why you were created. Purpose, you are lacking. Give it to you, we can."

"You would let a boy as old as he is to join our order? We all know how rarely that ends well." The dark man spoke again, but the green creature did not wither beneath his intense gaze.

"Strong in the Force, he is. Already, he can use his power. Lacks discipline, control, he does. More dangerous to leave him alone, than to train him. Much blood on his hands, for one so young. Guide him, we must."

"Even so, a boy of his age isn't fit for training. He's too volatile—he's like a bomb just waiting to explode. You could sense that he's already killed before, and he's still a child. What kind of Jedi would he become?"

"As much as I hate to admit it," the Kel Dor interjected, "Master Yoda does have a point. I'm no more eager to take this boy in than you are, Master Windu, but someone with his ability must be taught to use it responsibly. If we cast him aside, he will almost certainly succumb to the dark side. Not to mention, Master Yoda's Padawan just recently ascended to Knighthood. If he wishes to take this boy as his own personal pupil, who are we to disagree?"

"I suppose you are right." The man sighed. "Although, none of this matters much if the boy himself refuses."

Obi-Wan felt the gazes of the three masters, understanding of the situation dawning on him slowly. When he realized what it was he was being offered, he squared his shoulders and spoke with all the confidence he could muster.

"I came to Dantooine searching for answers. I am Ken Obi's clone. If he was a Jedi, then I should become one as well."

"Settled, this matter is. Come forward, Padawan Obi-Wan." He moved as directed, standing before Master Yoda. Despite standing head and shoulders over the Jedi, he felt dwarfed by his presence. A sensation of unusual calm descended upon him as a green hand rested itself on his chest.

"Devote yourself to my teachings, do you?"

"Yes." His voice came out proud and strong.

"Devote yourself to our order, do you?"

"Yes."

"Devote yourself to always aid, and never harm, do you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Go now—your training begins. Further instructions, you must await at the gate."

"Very well...Master." He bowed, imitating the child he had seen before. Turning, he walked away from the seated Masters and began walking back the way he had come. Meeting up once more with Var and Trix, he stood vigil with them while he waited.


	6. First Lesson

He had been standing for hours. The sun was touching the horizon, and the sky had lit up with a mosaic of crimson and violet. Obi-Wan tugged at the folds of his too-loose clothes, feeling a rising pressure welling up within him as he continued to wait on the convenience of a shriveled-up, green-skinned alien. Var and Trix had left with some Jedi whose name he had already forgotten, and he had been standing alone for almost an hour now. His throat felt coarse with thirst, and he could hear his stomach growling at him in a plea for food.

He waited until the sun had disappeared behind the distant tree line, then decided that enough was enough and spun on his heels to push open the heavy stone doors. Walking briskly into the settlement, he stopped the first person he saw: a Klatooinian who appeared no more than five years old.

"Do you know where I can find Yoda?"

"_Master_ Yoda has retired for the evening. He's in his apartment—that way."

"Thank you." Obi-Wan turned to walk in the indicated direction, but was stopped short when the youngling spoke again.

"You're not...his new Padawan, are you?" The child's voice held a sound of both awe and sympathy as he posed the question.

"Yes, why?"

"Oh, well then, you shouldn't...no, never mind. I'm not supposed to say. Goodbye." The young Klatooinian gave a shallow bow and left, walking at a pace that looked too fast for his short legs to be capable of. Obi-Wan watched him depart with confusion, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Shaking his head silently, he decided to ignore it and walked on. He arrived at a nondescript building with a residential directory displayed by the front door. He found the number to the apartment he needed and climbed to the building's second floor, banging on the door labeled M-19. From inside, a familiar voice answered.

"Come in, come in. Unlocked, the door is."

Obi-Wan walked inside and saw a short, round table sitting in the entryway surrounded by small wooden stools. A ring of candles stood on top of the table, providing the room's only illumination. The air carried the scent of some strange herb which he could not identify. There was a small kitchen attached to the entryway, containing nothing more than a food processor and sonic sink. He saw two doorways opposite of him, one of which was open. He peered inside, seeing a small pallet and bookstand in an otherwise unfurnished room. The other door opened with a click, and the diminutive Jedi walked out. Obi-Wan peeked inside the door, but was disappointed to see that it contained nothing more than a simple refresher unit.

"Told you to wait by the gate, I did. Why have you come here?" Yoda sat on one of the stools surrounding his squat table, motioning for Obi-Wan to join him. He remained standing, addressing the Master stiffly.

"I've been waiting for hours. How long were you planning on having me stand there?"

"As long as your patience would allow." Yoda looked at him with a serious eye as he replied. "A Jedi must know patience. Action is not always the answer. A difficult lesson, for one such as yourself."

"So, you were waiting for me to come find you?"

"Only because I knew you would. When told to wait, wait you should. Impatience, a Jedi's greatest enemy can be."

"But you just said you weren't going to come for me. I can't just stand there forever!"

The wizened Jedi shook his head and sighed. "A test, it was. Failed, you have. Knew that you would, I did, but excuse your failure, it does not. Go now, and return to the gate. Come for you I will, when ready you are."

"Are you actually going to come this time?"

"Come for you I would have, had I not known that you would come to me instead. When patience you have learned, come for you I will."

Realizing that he had no real choice in the matter, Obi-Wan gave a curt bow and left the apartment. Its strange smell still clung to him as he walked down the complex's halls and exited the building. His muscles felt relaxed as he followed the brick path back to the gate once more, and he felt a stubborn determination when he took his place back in front of the settlement's entrance. He had never failed a test before, failure had never been an option for him. This time, he would outwait his gray-haired master. Sitting down with his legs crossed, he waited in the cool evening air. After a short while, he dozed off to sleep.

When he woke up, the sun had risen once more. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn before pushing himself up to his feet. There was a fire burning in his stomach, and his throat felt like cracked clay. He looked about for some sign of food, seeing nothing. He was about to enter into the settlement and search out someplace to eat, but stopped as he remembered his conversation with Yoda. He was not going to leave this spot until the diminutive Master came for him. He was not going to fail this test because of something as insignificant as hunger or thirst.

He sat down again, closing his eyes lightly. Breathing in deeply, he remembered a time when he had been locked away in one of the testing chambers for days with no food or water. He had been forced to find a way to keep himself from growing dehydrated, and had taught himself to slow his bodily functions. It required immense concentration, but there was nothing out here to distract him.

He slowed his breathing down to a near standstill, his heart rate dropping slowly. He was aware of the changes in his body, but he did not think about them. Thinking now would only stop the process. He made himself lose all sense of self, becoming one with the soothing darkness that hid behind his closed eyes. Time ceased to flow, and his body no longer concerned him. Gone were his hunger and his thirst, replaced only with the empty fullness of a unity with himself.

He was drawn out of his trance by something prodding his shoulder. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw Yoda standing in front of him, poking at him with a walking stick. He batted the stick aside with the back of his hand, eliciting an amused chuckle from the Jedi Master. He looked at the wrinkled green face, feeling a sudden twist of pain in his abdomen to remind him that he hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

"Hungry, are you? Come, feed you I will." Yoda hobbled through the large stone gate, and Obi-Wan followed. They entered Yoda's apartment, and the old Jedi powered on the kitchen's food processor. In a few minutes, they were munching on nerf burgers and chuba fries. When Obi-Wan was full, he was led into the bedroom and shown his pallet, lying on the opposite side of the room from Yoda's.

"Not much, but your new home, this is. No need for a key—always open, my door is. But for now, come with me. New clothes, you need."

The green being led him to a small, round building which hummed from within. When they entered, they were met by an elderly woman who bowed to them both in greeting. She instructed Obi-Wan to undress, and he did so without question. He watched as she used various tools to measure his dimensions, hearing her mutter under her breath that he looked incredibly familiar. More loudly, she quoted a price to Yoda and informed them that she would have Obi-Wan's clothes ready in an hour.

He was instructed to sit and wait while his clothes were being made, doing nothing but watch as a large machine slowly spun several pieces of brown cloth. When the hour had passed, he was presented with two sets of clothes consisting of cream-colored tunic and pants. Yoda thanked the seamstress and paid her fee before taking Obi-Wan to yet another shop, where he was told to wait for three hours while a muscular Trandoshan crafted him a belt and a pair of boots.

Once they had completed Obi-Wan's new wardrobe, the two returned to Yoda's apartment. Yoda prepared a strange, fungal dish and watched Obi-Wan smilingly while they ate. "So, my young Padawan, what have you learned today of a Jedi's life?"

"There's too much waiting." Obi-Wan replied ruefully, trying not to think about the bitter taste of whatever it was he had in his mouth. The old Jedi chuckled softly to himself.

"Good, good. Learned your first lesson, you have."


	7. Two Teachers

Several weeks had passed, and Obi-Wan was beginning to feel frustrated. He had spent every day since his arrival training, and yet he seemed to be going nowhere. He had been doing nothing but meditate and listen to Master Yoda's old, outdated proverbs about swamps and trees and bugs.

"Distracted, you are." The old Jedi hobbled around him in a semicircle, roughly knocking him in the back of the head with his cane.

"Like a moth waiting to grow its wings, you must be. Patient, thinking only of the task at hand. Only harm will rushing bring you."

He sat cross-legged on a flat-topped boulder which they had found several miles out from the enclave. He winced beneath Yoda's blow, but forced himself to keep his eyes shut. He had learned his lesson the last time he had opened his eyes during meditation—there had been a thunderstorm that night, and every Jedi in the enclave had been told to keep him locked outside.

Taking a deep breath, he tried once more to center himself. The sense of impatience refused to let up, however, and he could feel an urgency slowly bubbling up as his master continued to slowly walk circles around him. A dewfly buzzed angrily beside his ear, and his hand jumped up to snatch it from the air.

The buzzing stopped, but the silence Obi-Wan now heard was too complete. The scuffling of Yoda's feet and the muted tapping of his cane had ceased as well. Nervously, he extended his awareness beyond himself and realized that the wrinkled alien was radiating with disappointment.

"The fly—what did it do to you?"

"It was distracting me—you're the one who wanted me to be more focused on my meditations."

"But not at the cost of a life. Killed that fly, you have. Who now will feed its children?"

"It's just a bug—why do you care so much about it?" He felt indignation rising up inside him. Why was it that everything he did seemed to be wrong?

"Part of the Force, all life is. When you kill anything, even a fly, part of yourself dies with it. Avoid killing whenever possible, a Jedi must. Made up of all life, the Force is, and Jedi live to serve the force."

"But it's just a bug! Even if it is a part of the Force, how much can killing one fly matter? There are just going to be more born later."

"Today, a fly. Tomorrow, a bird. The day after, a nerf. How many days until another human is what you kill? Already killed before, you have. Knocking on your door, is the dark side of the Force. Let it enter, you must not."

Frustrated, Obi-Wan let out a sigh. "Well then, what should I do? Let a fly keep me from training?"

"If a fly can stop you, then a Jedi you are not. Let the fly follow its path—your own actions should be all that concern you."

"But I can't focus on my actions when there's something buzzing in my ear!"

The master made a disgruntled noise before he spoke. "Too spirited, you are. Patience and discipline, you lack. Much like my last apprentice. Perhaps he will be the one to teach them to you. Done for now, we are. Return home. Tomorrow, you will begin training with him."

* * *

The next day, true to Yoda's word, Obi-Wan found himself being led out into the fields by a tall, bearded man who had introduced himself only as Jinn. He had been woken up well before sunrise, and they stopped as the golden orb began peeking over the horizon. His new teacher turned to face him, wearing a face which seemed to be carved from stone. From within his robe he produced a slender, wooden cane, roughly one meter in length. He tossed it toward Obi-Wan, who snatched it out of the air.

"Your reflexes are good—by normal standards. Before you begin to train again with Master Yoda, you will need to become quicker. Your posture is lacking as well—you slouch too much."

Obi-Wan tensed as the man began walking in a slow circle, eyeing him from all sides.

"You're gripping your weapon too tightly. Your muscles are too tight—you must relax them. No, now you're slouching again. Chin up, boy—you need to be able to see what's in front of you. And your weight," he gave Obi-Wan a shove, knocking him off balance, "is too unevenly distributed. You stand more like a bar fighter than a Jedi."

"Well, isn't that why you're here?" Obi-Wan hefted the cane in his hand as though it were a club. "To teach me how to fight like a Jedi?"

"No," the man grinned. "Right now, I'm here to teach you how to _stand_ like a Jedi. There's no use teaching you to fight when a strong wind could blow you over. Once you have the proper form, you can start swinging that saber."

"Saber?" Obi-Wan looked at the stick in his hand. It was just a piece of wood—not even in the shape of a weapon—not one as archaic as a sword, at least.

"Ah, yes. Master Yoda didn't tell you what I'd be teaching you, did he? By the end of your training with me, you will have learned how to use one of these." He drew a small metal cylinder from his belt, looking similar in shape and size to a glowrod. He pressed a trigger, and a beam of energy sprung out from its tip, emitting an electric hiss. The glowing blade hummed as he performed a flourish, forming a perfect disc of light for the briefest of moments.

"This is the reward you have to look forward to: a lightsaber. But first," the blade retracted and he returned the weapon to his belt, "you must learn how to stand. There's no use in trying to run before you can crawl."

Obi-Wan nodded solemnly, mesmerized by the memory of that glowing beam. In his mind's eye the cane in his hand shone just as bright, and he felt a smile touch his lips.


	8. Progress

Obi-Wan stood at the ready, back straight yet relaxed. He held the shaft of wood in his hand gently, with just enough pressure that it would not slip out from between his fingers. His head was high and proud, his feet spaced shoulder-width apart. His blade was held to the side, its tip hovering mere centimeters above the grassy ground. There was a slight bend to his arm—not quite straight, but not visibly angled. He was facing his instructor with his sword arm forward, knees bent just enough to require some strain. It had taken nearly three months, but he had finally managed to meet Master Jinn's standards.

"Not bad." That was all the recognition he received for his work.

"Now, to learn how to draw your blade. Like so." He rested his hand on the hilt of his saber, sweeping his arm forward and igniting the blade in a swift, crisp motion. The blade's afterimage left an arc of magenta pulsing in his vision. He attempted to repeat the motion, but his draw seemed slow and clumsy in comparison.

"Don't focus on where the blade is—focus on where it has to go. Find the shortest path to your goal, and let the weapon guide itself."

Obi-Wan breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment before trying again. His swing still felt uncontrolled, and he could see the tip of his weapon wavering as he held his finishing posture.

"Don't try to force the blade. It is an extension of yourself; let it guide you, instead."

Obi-Wan spent the next several hours trying and failing to perfect the technique, every failure drawing new criticism from his taskmaster. First he was too wild, then he was too stiff. His arm was raised too high or too low, his toes were pointing in the wrong direction, he inhaled when he should have exhaled. Master Jinn recited a litany of his mistakes to him, as he had every day for the past 97 days. He had counted.

When he was done having his failures brought to his attention, Obi-Wan sat down, sinking into the tall grass. He was sweating, despite having done nothing more than swing a stick. His instructor kneeled down beside him, offering a canteen of water. He took it and swallowed greedily, wiping his mouth with the edge of his sleeve when he had finished.

"Master Jinn," a thought occurred to him, "where are you from? Before you were a Jedi."

"I come from Serenno."

"Really? Your name doesn't sound very Serennan."

"That's because it's not. I changed my name when I became a Jedi Knight—my old name was known by too many people. I was born to be a count of Serenno, but I needed to be seen as a Jedi."

"So, you were escaping your past, too?"

"Yes." The lines of Jinn's face softened into an expression of reminiscence.

"Although my past was a happy one, one with a bright future to look forward to. The counts of Serenno are among the richest beings in the galaxy, and I gave up my inheritance to join the order. Your story is quite different, from what I hear."

"Yes, it is…" Obi-Wan looked at his boots through the swaying blades of grass, shining bronze in the sunlight. He thought back to the months he had spent training under Master Jinn, building his body and learning to control himself well enough that his posture was acceptable.

"How long will I spend training with you?"

"At least until you've learned the rudiments of swordfighting—that's all that any Jedi is required to learn. For you, I would estimate around…two years, including what you've already done. Of course, you would be free to continue training with me after that. In addition to training with Master Yoda, that is."

Two years, less 97 days…going by the Coruscant calendar, that left 18 months. Pushing himself up to his feet, Obi-Wan took hold of his wooden saber once more and stood at the ready. He drew the weapon from his side, watching it glide smoothly through the air before him.

"Let's see if we can make that seventeen months left, instead."

Master Jinn watched him with a thin grin. "Show me that draw again, and we'll see just how long until you can build a lightsaber of your own."


	9. Sabers of Wood

Today was the day. Obi-Wan stood across from another student, wooden blade held out before him in a high defense. His opponent was smaller than he was, and held his weapon in a reverse grip. He eyed the young twi'lek cautiously, not knowing what to expect from an opponent using such an unorthodox technique. They stood still, waiting. This was the day one of them would be deemed ready to construct their own lightsaber.

The sun was at its zenith, beating down on them and casting everything in a harsh light. Obi-Wan ignored the glare reflecting off the golden grass, opening himself to the Force so that he could feel, rather than see, his opponent. The twi'lek crouched low, ready to spring forward. He shifted his grip, lowering his blade to better defend against the perceived threat. He felt a flash of frustration from the other student, and smirked. It had taken a total of twenty-four standard months—over two years—but his training with Master Jinn had been well worth the extra time spent.

"Begin!" Master Yoda's throaty voice gave the order, and the twi'lek leapt forward, just as Obi-Wan had predicted. Master Jinn would have accused his opponent of being too eager to begin the fight. Obi-Wan had been that way once, as well, until he realized that he was much more comfortable when he wasn't covered in welts from his instructor's staff.

There was a flurry of blows, but he managed to ward them off without giving up too much ground. When he saw a pause, he pressed forward with an attack of his own, using the heavy-handed strokes he had been taught. He battered the other's blade with all the force his newly toned muscles could muster, sending the weapon spinning from the twi'lek's hand.

"Round one goes to Obi-Wan. Prepare yourselves for round two."

The contest was divided into three rounds, each of which had different rules. The first had been a standard sparring match, won either by striking or disarming the opponent. Master Jinn had commented on the solidity of Obi-Wan's defense, so he hadn't been too concerned about the first round. The second round, however, he felt almost certain he would lose.

The two of them stood roughly two meters apart, blades held at their sides. This time, they would each be allowed a single stroke. It was a test of precision and speed. He had been fairly confident in his ability to strike quickly and accurately, but this twi'lek had him outclassed in those regards. He was able to defend against such quick strikes, but he had no hope of matching them with his own. His style relied too heavily on power, while the twi'lek's unusual grip seemed to grant it unnatural speed.

There was a dark glint in his opponent's eye as they stood waiting. He had seen that look before, although it had been years since he had last felt the need to fear it. Now, he looked back calmly and accepted what was to come. Yoda's voice sounded once more, and he drew his saber not out, but up. There was a sharp crack as the two blades met, with Obi-Wan's gently touching his tightly cropped hair. Had it not been there, the force of his opponent's blow would have cracked his skull. There was an air of disapproval coming from the masters who were watching, and the twi'lek glowered at him, as if it were his fault the masters were displeased.

"Round two goes to Lochna. Prepare yourselves for round three."

Backing away from one another, they found their starting positions for round three. Master Jinn and the twi'lek's master each entered into the dueling circle, relieving their students of their weapons. This battle would be fought with their bodies alone.

Obi-Wan took up a firm, grounded stance, watching as his opponent once again lowered himself into a deep crouch. His fingers were pinched together, forming a spearhead of sorts. That surprised Obi-Wan—most Jedi derived their unarmed fighting styles from lightsaber techniques. This padawan appeared to be using a unique style, however.

The third round began, and the twi'lek dashed forward as before. This time, however, he did not follow a straight path. He circled around Obi-Wan, jabbing rapidly with his strange-looking fists. Not expecting the shift in strategy, Obi-Wan was caught off guard and was unable to block several of the strikes. One glanced his face, the twi'lek's nails digging a gash into his cheek.

In an armed match, that would have been the end. Now, however, the rules were different. This round lasted until one of them submitted,was incapacitated, or left the ring. Trix had told him that one of these matches had lasted two days straight. He doubted it was true, but the rules for the match did technically allow for it.

Removing such thoughts from his mind, Obi-Wan stepped back while he formulated a strategy. The twi'lek kept pressing forward, lashing out seemingly at random. He did his best to keep the blows at bay, but the sheer number of attacks kept him from blocking them all. If this kept up, he would have no chance of winning.

Realizing that he had his back to the edge of the arena, Obi-Wan launched a desperate attack. He dropped his defenses completely, sacrificing his protection in order to put the maximal amount of force behind one single blow. He drove his fist into the twi'lek's gut, getting struck himself multiple times in the process. One blow struck his shoulder, dislocating the arm.

The twi'lek doubled over, clutching at his stomach. He appeared to be retching, but Obi-Wan didn't wait to check. Moving before the pain in his shoulder could start up, he swung with his good arm, lifting the twi'lek off the ground and hurling him out of the ring. He rolled his injured shoulder, causing an explosion of pain as the joint reconnected.

"Round three goes to Obi-Wan. Finished, this contest is."

The twi'lek's master rushed over to assist him while Masters Jinn and Yoda approached Obi-Wan. Yoda reached out and touched his shoulder, and a soothing cold seeped inside.

"Two and a half years, you have waited. Learned your lesson on patience, you have."


	10. Arrival on Ossus

Obi-Wan sat quietly, his hands clasped over his navel. Taking deep, even breaths, he let himself be washed away by the Force. He was one with his surroundings—he could pinpoint the exact location of every table, chair, cup, and forgotten credit chip in the cabin without opening his eyes. He had been in that same posture for well over an hour, and had noted without stirring the coming and going of several individuals—Master Yoda observing his meditation, crew members scurrying about their duties, a gizka chewing on some exposed wiring.

He and his two teachers had boarded a ship headed for the Adega system, so that Obi-Wan would be able to find a crystal suitable for powering his lightsaber. He had already constructed the hilt under Master Jinn's watchful eye, crafting a design which left much of the interior exposed. He had been nervous about that at first, until Master Jinn had proven the weapon's durability by using it to hammer a rock. The rock had chipped, and the hilt hadn't even been scratched. He had explained later that each of the components had been coated in a thin layer of bronzium, making the internal parts just as durable as the hilt's plating.

A single chime sounded, signaling that his meditation was over. He opened his eyes and stood up, stretching his arms and rubbing his legs back awake. They were still tingling when he walked out of the rec room and toward his cabinet. He gathered up the few things he was bringing with him: his lightsaber, a change of clothes, and a handheld mining laser he had purchased from another passenger. He had been told to meditate until planetfall, and to be ready as soon as the shuttle landed. They were guests on this ship, and wanted to waste no more of the crew's time than necessary.

He met Masters Yoda and Jinn by the airlock, trying to stay out of the way while the crew bustled about, preparing to land. The other passengers, recruits of Adega Mining Incorporated, were all funneling toward the cargo hold to gather their equipment. There was a surprising amount of turbulence for such a large craft—the stabilizers must have been in need of repair.

The ship stopped shuddering, and the engine fell silent. Obi-Wan felt the captain approaching before he saw her. She was a tall, fair-haired cathar who had let her claws grow almost a full decimeter out. Obi-Wan had asked one of the crewmen why she didn't trim them, and had been told that the captain didn't care much for pirates. No further detail had been given, although his imagination had been able to fill in the gaps quite nicely.

Her long claws didn't hamper her dexterity any, which she proved by rapidly punching the air lock's access code into the computer terminal. The lock hissed open behind Obi-Wan, and he turned to take in a new world. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the captain sneering at him as he stared.

The sight before him was of an empty, barren land. The ground was dry and rocky, forming a flat plane of stone. There were a handful of dried-out, dusty shrubs growing out of cracks in the ground. It looked as if someone had come along and sucked the life right out of the planet.

"What happened here?"

"Millennia ago, there was a terrible war between the Jedi and our mortal enemies, the Sith. This planet was one of the casualties." Master Jinn wore a pained expression as he spoke.

"Ossus was once full of life—covered in lush forests and home to innumerable creatures. For a time, it was home to the Jedi order. It was an oasis of peace and a storehouse of knowledge without rival. It fell under attack, however, and we were forced to flee. The Sith detonated a nearby star cluster, obliterating the planet's ecosystem and transforming it into what you see now."

The grunts of miners struggling under the weight of their equipment cued the three Jedi to unboard and step aside. When the ship's cargo had been unloaded, Master Yoda handed the captain a credit chip worth far more than their ride should have cost. She grinned ferally as she accepted the payment, and Yoda smiled back in kind. A few minutes later, the shuttle was rising away from the planet's surface with its engines screaming deafeningly. Obi-Wan turned to Yoda indignantly.

"You paid her enough to buy another ship!"

"Master Yoda has his reasons," Jinn assured him.

"What reasons?"

"Wanted for murder, the captain was."

Oh. Because that made sense.

"So you paid her for being a murderer? We're Jedi—we should have arrested her!"

"And where would you have held her, Obi-Wan? On her own ship? No prisons are there, on this planet. And what of the crew? Innocent, they are. Would you hold them here, as well?"

"But she's flying away! What if she kills again?"

"Rest assured, Obi-Wan. Kill again, she will not."

"How do you know?"

"Outfitted with transmitters, are the credits I gave her. Already alerted of her position, local authorities are. Tired from her journey, and leading an unseasoned crew, she is. She will not resist them."

Obi-Wan nodded, knowing that he had no hope of arguing against his master. Not that it would have made a difference—the shuttle was too far away to even be visible to them now. Master Jinn led the way to a small cave that appeared to be a long-abandoned mining shaft. Obi-Wan set his things down in a corner, but master Yoda shook his head.

"Stay here, you will not. Live off the land until you find your crystal, you must."

"But there's nothing here to live off of." The image of the desolate plane outside was fresh in his mind.

"Dead it may seem, but alive in the Force, this planet is. Follow its guidance, and you will find what you need."

Master Jinn clapped him on the shoulder, steering him out into the open.

"Trust your instincts. You're strong in the Force, so they'll rarely be wrong. And when they are wrong, I've taught you well enough that you should be able to handle any trouble that comes your way."

With that, he was thrust out into the harsh light of the planet's twin suns, one to the East, and one to the West. Ossus' day and night changed radically throughout the year, and now was the time when the days were longest. Over twenty hours of sunlight, at a good 40-plus degrees standard—hot enough to be considered a desert planet. Obi-Wan gazed out to the horizon, already feeling thirst's claws scratching at his throat.


	11. Searching

Obi-Wan had been walking for hours, and had yet to find food or water. He had long since stopped feeling thirsty, which he could dimly recall was actually a sign of dehydration. He had a throbbing headache, and his stomach felt like it was folding in on itself. He could feel himself swaying from side to side as he walked on, his vision slowly fading.

His foot slipped out from beneath him, and a cloud of dust puffed up from the dry ground. He looked to the sky in hopes of seeing a cloud, but was disappointed. There was nothing but an oppressively bright blue as one of the planet's suns hung at high noon. The other star had long since disappeared behind the horizon, but its absence mattered little. He was still thirsty, and the heat made it hard for him to move.

Lacking the energy to moan, he let out an exhausted sigh instead. There was no shelter in sight, and he had yet to find anything with any water in it at all. He had tried to wring something out of the dusty shrubs that cropped up across the ground, but they had been just as dry as the sand they grew in. As for animal life, he had seen only the silhouette of a single birdlike creature flying far off in the distance. No water, no food, no shelter. He stumbled on anyway, refusing to surrender. There had to be something.

Slowly, something in the corner of his eye began to draw his attention. A slightly darker smudge on the planet's surface. A shadow. A…hole?

He shuffled lifelessly toward the depression in the ground, finding it to be a burrow that went several meters into the ground. Without taking the time to think about what he was doing, he let himself drop into the dark pit. He landed with a thud on hard dirt. It took him a moment to realize that he could feel the cool of damp soil beneath the hand he had used to break his fall. Water!

Suddenly invigorated, he looked around wildly. Not too far from where he had fallen was a shallow, muddy puddle. Scrambling toward it, he bent down and lapped greedily at the dirty water. Thoughts of contaminants and contagions chimed off in the back of his mind, but he ignored them. He had found water!

When he had drained all the liquid that the little puddle had to offer, he sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was already feeling more alert, and began scanning the interior of the small cave he had discovered. He was in a small, oblong chamber with exits at either end. The cave appeared to have been dug by someone, but there were no signs or markings to tell him where either of the tunnels led.

His stomach burned with hunger, but he ignored it. He had water, he would be able to survive going for a little longer without food. Now, he had to figure out what his next move would be. The cave he had found gave him shade from the sun—a very good thing, but it severely limited his mobility. He still had his mission to focus on: he had to find a crystal. Taking out his lightsaber, he gripped it tightly with both hands and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the intricate wiring and elegant casing he had spent weeks crafting. Let the weapon tell him where to go.

Eyes still closed, he spun on his heels and began walking. He strode forward confidently, unafraid of what he might find. He could feel something resonating inside his weapon—almost as if it were singing to him. It guided him, telling him when to turn and where to step with care. Its song led him on, and he followed without hesitation.

Feeling led to stop, he opened his eyes and found himself staring into blackness. Of course—he was underground. Stretching out with his other senses, he could feel that he was inside an immense chamber. It was easily large enough to fit an entire star freighter inside, and its walls had a pockmarked feel to them that made Obi-Wan assume he had found an abandoned mining site.

Casting about blindly, he began circling around the chamber's circumference. He wasn't entirely sure what it was he was looking for, but he knew that he would find it here. He walked without stumbling, opening himself to the Force fully. He was aware of every corner of the cavern he was in—every stalagmite and pile of rubble blazed in his mind's eye as though he were looking at it beneath the oppressive sun above.

Suddenly, he became aware of something faintly more pronounced to his senses than the rest of the chamber. He approached the strange sensation, feeling a smile touch his lips. He stopped before a portion of the cavern's wall, slipping the mining laser he had brought with him from its holster. Gently, with all the care of an artist with his brush, he began carving away at the hard rock. After a few minutes of intense concentration, he had produced a small stone roughly the size of the tip of his smallest finger.

With great solemnity, he opened the casing to his lightsaber and lay the components out before him. Taking the crystal in his hand, he set it carefully within the compartment he had left empty during the weapon's initial creation. He reconstructed the hilt, holding it with a sense of accomplishment. He was not finished yet, however, and he knew what he still needed to do. Sitting down with crossed legs, he held his lightsaber like a talisman and sank deep inside himself.


	12. A Vision of Bondage

It was dark. That was the first thing Obi-Wan noticed about where he was. He could see nothing. No, that wasn't entirely true. There was an ambient, incredibly faint glow which permeated the air. It was like being outside on a starless night—just dark enough to make him think he couldn't see.

The next thing that he noticed was that he was completely bare. No weapons, no tools, no clothes. The cold air glided across his exposed skin, and he shivered. The darkness that surrounded him did nothing to protect him, and it did not hide his nakedness. He felt vulnerable, but there was nothing to hide behind. Suddenly, he wished for perfect darkness. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about being seen.

Stretching out with the Force, he probed the empty air around him for signs of anyone or anything nearby. There was nothing. He was completely and utterly alone. And yet, he could not stop feeling as though he were being watched. He fought the urge to cover himself with his hands, standing with his arms at his sides through sheer force of will. He would not let the darkness frighten him.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but he eventually found the air around him glowing. It started out softly, like the light from a flickering candle. It grew brighter, however, slowly rising in intensity until it looked as if he were standing inside a glowpanel. It was blinding at first, but his eyes adjusted. He looked around, seeing nothing but a single, barely visible speck in the distance. He stayed where he was, knowing instinctively that what he saw would approach him.

As the object grew closer, he began to be able to make out the shape of a human body. It was difficult to judge distance or size, but it appeared to be a child. He waited patiently as the being drew nearer. A cowl hid the boy's face when he had come close enough for Obi-Wan to be certain that he was a child. The boy stopped, standing squarely before him, somehow towering above him despite being the shorter of the two. He drew his hood back, and Obi-Wan looked into a face he had not seen in years.

Gazing back at him, eyes worn with suffering and hardened by surviving, was himself. It was his old self, back from before he had received his name. OB-1 grinned wickedly at him as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Do you think that makes you a Jedi?" The boy gestured to the lightsaber which was now in Obi-Wan's hand. It felt heavy, and he couldn't lift it. He tried to light the blade, but his thumb couldn't find the activator switch. His doppelganger cackled at him as he stood there, paralyzed.

"Look at you! You made that weapon yourself, and you can't even use it! And yet, I've already killed with this." The blaster from that night in Lokar's cantina was suddenly pressing its muzzle into Obi-Wan's chin. He had collapsed onto the floor, his mirror image bending over him and still wearing that mocking grin. He tried to push the blaster aside, but his arms would not move. The Force refused to answer his call, and his mouth was locked in place. He was defenseless.

"All that training, all that effort, and you're still as powerless as ever. Even more, in fact! When you were like me, you would have had the strength to fight. You've forgotten what it's like to feel pain—to need to lash out at those who hurt you. Let me help you remember."

Obi-Wan found himself chained, hanging from the ceiling of an all too familiar room. It was a testing chamber from the facility on Coruscant, designed exclusively for the punishment of disobedient subjects. Subjects like him.

"Oh, so you remember this place. Well, then, you must know what comes next."

There were electrodes attached to his head, which had been shaved bare. Pain exploded inside his skull, blinding him for a moment. When his vision returned, OB-1 was cupping his chin in his hand, their faces mere centimeters apart.

"Surely, you haven't forgotten all this? You'd best get remembering—there's no escaping from your past. There is only fighting back—keep on fighting, until you've killed them all. The scientists, the engineers, the security guards. They all knew. They all took part in it. They don't deserve to live."

Obi-Wan's lightsaber was alive now, burning with a fiery crimson. He spun the blade, severing the chains that bound him. Behind OB-1 now stood over a hundred individuals, each of them wearing white lab coats and sinister smiles. He tore the electrodes from his head, throwing them on the floor. He could feel a deep-seated ember burning in his stomach as he looked at the faces before him, each of them distinctly remembered. He squeezed the hilt of his lightsaber, its blade growing violent and unstable. It pulsed and wavered like a flame as he stood there, feeding it all the anger he had built up over his years of confinement. Now, he could be done with it.

He stepped forward, OB -1 watching on eagerly. The beings before him did not move. They did not try to run or defend themselves. They simply stood there, leering at him. The metal casing in his hand began to feel hot.

Beneath his feet, he heard the sharp sound of glass breaking. He looked down and saw a shattered mirror. In the mirror, he saw his own face staring back at him. Not his old face, but the one he called his own now. It was older, more controlled. A patchy beard had begun to sprout out of his chin, which he wore to remind himself that he was no longer a child.

He was no longer a child. Anger, rage, impulsive behavior—that was the way of children. He was more than that, now. He was a Jedi, and a Jedi had no room for childish behavior. He looked each of his antagonists square in the eye, silently coming to terms with their actions toward him. Each one had done different things—they all had their own unique ways of torturing their subjects.

However, Obi-Wan realized with a sudden insight, they had been tortured as well. Not in the same way, but they had to live with their actions. Whether they showed it or not, each of the men and women he had hated had also had their own troubles. They were kept far beneath the surface, not allowed to see their families or spend whatever payment they might have received. They had to live their lives surrounded by the constant suffering of children, and they had been forced to find some way to cope. It didn't excuse their actions, but it at least gave him a reason. In a way, they were victims just as much as he had been.

"What are you waiting for? Kill them!"

Obi-Wan turned to face his past self, looking calmly into the wild eyes of his youth. Taking a deep breath, he opened himself to the Force. His eyes were drawn to a translucent, barely perceptible band wrapped around the young boy's wrist. He reached out and touched it, feeling something familiar. It was one of the manacles that they would use to hold the test subjects in place. Faint electric current ran through them if anyone tried to open them, blocking the wearer's ability to use the Force long enough for them to be subdued.

Suddenly, he knew what needed to be done. He took his lightsaber in both hands, its blade now glowing a bright and vibrant blue. There was a look of fear in OB-1's eyes, and he smiled soothingly in return.

"You're right, I can't forget my past. But I can't allow myself to be bound by it, either."

He swung his blade in a motion practiced thousands of times, carving through the air with a lethal grace. He powered down his weapon in the same fluid motion, and two halves of a perfectly bisected manacle clattered to the floor. His past self gaped at him in wonder, rubbing his wrist.

"Am I…free?"

"Yes. Yes, you are."

The boy turned to leave, his smile now one of relief. As he shrank into the distance, Obi-Wan muttered something softly to himself.

"Thank you for making me face that. I have the feeling it won't be the last I'll see of my own past."


	13. Lightsaber

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, coming out of the deep trance he had fallen into. Looking down in his lap, he saw his lightsaber. He didn't need to turn it on to know that it was finished. Standing up slowly, he felt hunger and thirst return to him. Rubbing his chin with his hand, he felt several days' worth of beard beneath his fingers. He frowned, struggling to stand upright.

He walked back to the entrance of the cave slowly, using the wall to support himself. When he arrived at the burrow's entrance, he realized that both the planet's suns had set. There was only the faint light of the moons to go by. Spotting the puddle he had drank from when he had first arrived, Obi-Wan approached the muddy water once more and drank, grateful that the hole had filled with water again during his time meditating.

When he had finished drinking, he climbed his way out of the burrow and reached out with his mind to find the familiar presence of his masters. There was almost no life on the planet, so he had little trouble finding them. Once he had determined the direction he needed to head in, he started walking. He was able to get two hours of sunless travel, enjoying a much more tolerable temperature than that of his arrival to the planet.

When he found the cave where masters Jinn and Yoda had been staying, one of the suns had begun to peek up over the horizon. Violet light washed across the sky, giving the planet a much more beautiful appearance than it had had upon his arrival. He took in the view silently before entering the cave's mouth. Inside, he was greeted by the scent of mynock stew and the smiling faces of Jinn and Yoda.

"Hungry, you must be. Eat, eat." Obi-Wan sat down with a bowl of stew at the master's prompting, realizing as he took his first bite just how hungry he actually was. He gobbled down three bowls of the gamey stew, not even thinking to ask where they had found the ingredients for it. When he finished, his masters were watching him expectantly.

Master Jinn eyed the metal cylinder hanging from his belt with the look of a craftsman. "May we see your handiwork?"

Wordlessly, Obi-Wan took his lightsaber in hand and activated it. Its blade sprung forth, casting the small burrow in a blue light. He flourished the weapon experimentally, feeling out its weight and balance. He hadn't been expecting quite so much weight in the hilt, although he supposed it only made sense, seeing as the blade itself was effectively weightless.

"Impressive work, for a first setting. Most Jedi are too timid their first time to meditate deeply enough. The visions they see in those caves frighten them, and they cut their work short. Master Yoda was right to let you join the order."

"Thank you, master Jinn. These visions…" Obi-Wan hesitated, unsure how to continue. "Do they…have any particular significance?"

"For every Jedi, different, these visions are. Some see the past. Some, the future. Painful or frightening, most of them are. Said, it is, that greater power brings more terrifying dreams. No more, shall we speak on the matter. A personal thing, these visions are. Only for the Jedi who sees them, are they. Come, now—waiting, our ship is."

"Ship? What ship? The one we came here on flew off, and I thought it was a standard month before the next one arrived."

"How long do you think you were meditating, Obi-Wan?"

"A few days?"

"Slows the body, a Jedi's meditation does. Less food and drink, the flesh needs when in this state. Twenty-three days it has been, since you last left this cave. Told the captain of the freighter to wait for you, we did. Come—growing anxious, the captain must be."

The three exited the cave, and Obi-Wan saw nothing but flat ground outside. "Where's this ship you were talking about?"

"Almost one hundred kilometers away, it was. Contacted the captain, I have. Be here soon, it will."

Several minutes later, Obi-Wan saw a large shuttle flying toward them. It lowered to the ground, kicking up a massive cloud of dust. Fighting not to choke, Obi-Wan followed Yoda and Jinn up to the descending ramp, being greeted by a muscular barabel who hissed as he boarded.

"The mizzing Jedi iz here—prepare to leave the ztar zyztem!" The captain stomped off to his cockpit, and Obi-Wan turned to master Jinn.

"Do all barabels have accents that thick?"

"No, and that one normally doesn't. He must be drunk—he's been waiting planetside for days now, and his crew has had nothing to do but drink and gamble with the local miners. Which is a good thing, because we have no credits, and any being with liquor in their system is going to be much easier to…persuade."

"We don't have any credits? I thought you two brought enough to take a shuttle both ways."

"We did, but master Yoda got a hankering for mynock…I let him out of my sight for five minutes, and he ran off with the credits to buy the meat for that stew you ate. He's far wiser than I, most of the time. He does have the habit of forgetting that on occasion, however."

He stared daggers at Yoda, and the little green alien chuckled. "Fine in the end, it turned out, master Jinn. And no need for your 'persuasion'—barabels, a great respect for Jedi, they have. Unthinkable it would be, if charge us, he did. Now, time for Obi-Wan to sleep, it is. A very long time, it has been."

At the mention of sleep, Obi-Wan realized just how tired he was. One of the crewmen led him to his cabin, much more spacious than the one he had rented on their way to Ossus. He flopped himself unceremoniously onto the pallet, and sleep overtook him instantly.


	14. Solo Mission

Obi-Wan and Yoda walked behind the towering frame of a wookie. He had introduced himself as Tarfful, and had said something else to Yoda which Obi-Wan had not been able to discern. He was still picking up the language, despite having been on Kashyyyk for nearly three years now. They had left Dantooine on a whim of Yoda's, who had said nothing more than "arise, a reason for our presence shall." Supposedly, they were going to get that reason now.

Looking out on the wroshyr forests that surrounded them, Obi-Wan surprised himself with how accustomed to the size of the trees he had become. They grew to be hundreds of meters tall, and no other plants he had seen came even close to matching their girth. And yet, after the years, he found himself no longer impressed by their mass. Now, he only remained interested in the immense amount of life he could feel coming from them.

Most of what he felt did not come from the trees themselves, however. There were countless species of creatures which lived on the planet and thrived in the dense jungles created by the wroshyr trees. He had yet to go a day when he hadn't seen at least one creature he had not seen before. At times, it almost felt as if the planet itself were alive. There was a buzzing noise overhead, and the three looked up to see a large insect circling above them—can-cells, they were called. The wookie growled something about signs, and Obi-Wan looked pleadingly at his master.

"A good omen, the can-cell is. Great irony in this one's appearance, chieftain Tarfful sees."

The three of them climbed up a great, spiraling staircase which hugged the side of a wroshyr. The wooden boards were firm beneath their feet—a good thing, considering that they were kilometers above the ground. It had taken Obi-Wan some time to grow used to having nothing but a few centimeters of dead tree between him and a long plummet to a messy death. He would have felt much more comfortable on durasteel—it was more familiar, and it didn't run the risk of rotting.

They arrived at a gate which was guarded by two wookies, each of them armed with menacing ryyk blades. They snapped to attention as Tarfful approached, watching him with an obvious respect. The chieftain gave them an absentminded greeting, walking through the gate quickly even for a being of his size. Obi-Wan was almost jogging to keep up, but Yoda somehow seemed to be moving effortlessly. That blasted cane was all for show—he was sure of it.

Beyond the gate was a surprisingly technological area. It was full of computers and various diagnostics equipment—things Obi-Wan rarely had rarely come across on this planet. There were several droids present as well, which he recognized as various policing models. He looked about the room carefully now, noting a pair of wookies standing in the corner who were reeking with concern. He reached out and touched their minds gently, gathering just enough information to understand the gravity of the situation. Tarfful turned to address them, and he looked at the wookie with rapt attention. As Tarfful spoke, Yoda translated for him.

"Kidnapped, a group of wookie children has been. Among them, the son of a visiting chieftain was. Taken by trandoshans, the children appear to be. Found a severed claw, the wookies have, although they have no way to identify its owner. Travel to Trandosha, one of us must, to find these children before they are sold into slavery. A grave matter this is, Obi-Wan. Overcome with grief, chieftain Kormak is. For the sake of his people, find his child, we must."

"Well then, let's get going. Where's this claw they found?"

A wookie who had been operating one of the computers growled for him to wait a moment, opening a security case. Inside was a perfectly preserved Trandoshan hand, its claws still wrapped around the hilt of a crude knife. Obi-Wan lifted the hand with his mind, not wanting to contaminate it with his hands. It was a grayish green color, with thick fingers and trimmed claws. He knew little of trandoshans, but he could see toned muscles and old scars. This was the hand of a fighter. He spoke as the wheels in his mind began to turn.

"The Trandoshan government should have a DNA database of its citizens. If the trandoshan who kidnapped these wookies lives on Trandosha, we should be able to find him with this."

"_We_ will not be going, Obi-Wan." Yoda spoke slowly and deliberately. "A test of sorts, this will be. Stay here, I shall. Alone, you will go."

Kormak began yowling loudly at the little alien, shaking his shaggy fists in the air. He snarled angry accusations faster than Obi-Wan could follow, and Tarfful stepped forward to restrain him. Yoda motioned for Tarfful to stand aside however, and the wookie obliged. Stepping forward, Yoda looked Kormak in the eye.

"Stay to oversee the investigation, one of us must. And just what do you expect me to do against trandoshan bounty hunters? Over eight hundred years old, am I. Would you rather my young, strong apprentice stay here in my stead?"

Yoda's words seemed to placate the angry wookie, who lowered his arms and bowed his head in shame. Obi-Wan watched silently, unsure whether he should be more impressed by his master having calmed a wookie or having survived lying to one. Between the two of them, Yoda was by far the stronger one. He had never seen his master draw his lightsaber, but it was not for a want of danger. He had watched Yoda overpower a room full of drunken mercenaries with nothing more than the sound of his voice. For some reason, his master sincerely wanted him to take care of this task alone. He did not want to disappoint him.

"Where can I find a ship?"


	15. Trandosha

"You have twelve hours. I'm not staying on this planet any longer than that—I've got a policy against sticking my neck where it don't belong."

"That should be more than enough time. Thank you for all the trouble." Obi-Wan bowed to the captain of the barge he had rented out, turning to walk down the landing pad. He held the cowl of his cloak against a strong wind as he approached the security checkpoint at the landing pad's edge.

"Your identification please, _human._" The trandoshan standing watch over the checkpoint hefted a blaster rifle as he spoke, his head tilted in such a way that his spiny teeth were clearly visible.

"This should be sufficient, I think." He let his lightsaber slip into the palm of his hand, holding it up in front of the security guard's face. There was a flicker of recognition in its reptilian eyes, and its body suddenly got stiffer.

"You are welcome here as long as your business requires, Jedi. Just don't go causing any trouble—your kind will find no sympathy here."

"Thank you for the warning; I will do my best to be careful, and I should be out of your…scales as soon as possible. Would you mind pointing me to the nearest government center? It would be a tremendous help."

"The city hall is about twenty klicks that way," the guard pointed due south. "It takes about five minutes by speeder."

"Thank you again. I'll be on my way, now." He stepped off of the platform and into a densely crowded walkway. After pushing his way through the mass of bodies for several minutes, he was able to find himself by the roadside. Hailing a speeder, he climbed inside and asked to be taken to the city hall. The driver, looking rather squat for a trandoshan, took him there without saying a word.

Entering into the city hall, which looked surprisingly run-down for a building of its function, Obi-Wan found a clerk who was willing to connect him to the planetary security network. He took a datachip out of his pocket and inserted it into the console she had shown him to. On the datachip was the DNA sequence from the claw that had been discovered on Kashyyyk. After a few minutes of browsing through user options and confidentiality statements, he was able to get into the Dosha Citizenry Genetics Database.

Running a scan for a matching DNA sequence was a time-consuming task, and Obi-Wan found himself standing at the terminal's monitor for over an hour while waiting. When the scan had completed, he was greeted by a positive match. There was a trandoshan named Trassk, who happened to live within a little over an hour's speeder ride from where he was. He took note of the name and address listed before erasing his user history and shutting the terminal down. He thanked the clerk and left the hall, hailing another speeder.

While he was being taken to Trassk's home, Obi-Wan observed the landscape that they were speeding past. Beyond the city's edges, Trandosha's countryside was covered in a sea of grass. It reminded him quite a bit of the fields on Dantooine, although the plants were a dirty green here rather than the golden bronze he was accustomed to. They passed a number of animals as well, although they were moving too quickly for Obi-Wan to identify their species.

When they arrived at their destination, the speeder slowed to a stop. Obi-Wan paid the driver and stepped outside, taking in the sight of the disheveled house he saw before him.

"Want me to wait for you, human? It's a long walk back the way you came."

"I'll be fine, thank you. I've got someone coming to pick me up on my way back."

"Suit yourself." The driver shrugged, hissing softly as his tongue slithered between his teeth. "The frisk sharks are mighty hungry this time of year."

With that, the speeder's engine roared to life and it sped off into the distance. Obi-Wan watched until it had disappeared into the horizon before taking out his comlink.

"Hello?"

"Jedi man, you're still alive! What can I do for you? Nine and a half hours left, by the way. Just thought you'd like to know."

"I'm well aware of how much time I have. Can you lock onto my location?"

"Sure thing. Mind if I ask why?"

"Once you get my position, I'd like for you to fly over here and pick me up. I should be ready for you by the time you get here."

"Should be? The kriff is that supposed to mean?"

"Just be here—you'll figure out what it means if it ends up being important."

The man on the other end let out an audible sigh. "You Jedi can never just do things like the rest of us, huh?"

"If we did, then we wouldn't be Jedi."

"Fair enough. I've got your location now—I'll be there in about twenty minutes. I'd better not have to land in the middle of a blasterfight."

"Oh, I don't think you will." Obi-Wan deactivated his comlink and placed it back in his pocket. Replacing it in his hand was his lightsaber.

"If the fight's still going on when you get here, I'll probably be dead."


	16. Springing the Trap

The chime to the door sounded harsh and grating. Obi-Wan rested his sword hand on his hip, ready to draw his lightsaber at a moment's notice. The door opened, and he saw the face of a trandoshan. It was not the one he was looking for, however. He kept his face expressionless, but stretched out with his senses to scan the surrounding area. There were over a dozen beings inside, all of them feeling incredibly anxious. If they were planning what he thought they were, this was going to be a very interesting visit.

"Mind if I come in for a moment? I'm looking for someone by the name of Trassk. City records said he lives here."

"There is no one named Trassk here. Still, come in and have a drink, master Jedi." The trandoshan ushered him inside, and he noted his host's slip of the tongue. His lightsaber was beneath his cloak—this trandoshan had no reason to know he was a Jedi, unless they had known he was coming. The trandoshan began rummaging through a wooden cabinet, and called out to him over its shoulder.

"Have you ever had thrashroot tea before?" That was one of master Yoda's favorite drinks.

"No, I can't say I have. Do you live here alone?"

"I live with my mate."

"Oh? Where is she?" Innocents could make this even trickier than it already was.

"_He_ is off travelling at the moment."

"Ah, my apologies. I haven't known enough trandoshans to be able to tell them apart. I had simply assumed…"

"Do not let your mistake worry you. Humans all look the same to me, as well."

He sat down at a table and she set down a steaming cup in front of him, containing something that was most definitely not thrashroot tea. Of course—why bother fighting a Jedi with blasters when you could simply poison him instead? They probably had a nice little cage waiting for him wherever they were keeping the wookies. He imagined that a Jedi slave fetched a nice price on the black market.

He took the cup in his hand, raising it slowly to his mouth. The trandoshan watched intently as he parted his lips, tilting the cup's rim toward them. He blew gently and set the cup down. Her reaction was enough evidence to make him certain of her plan.

"It's a little hot for me—humans have very delicate lips compared to you trandoshans. I hope I haven't offended."

"Not at all. Take your time."

The trandoshan sat down across the table from him, nursing a cup whose contents were a little darker than his. Not a very noticeable difference, but his training with Yoda had made him especially sensitive to such things. She sipped at the tea slowly, her eyes slipping between looking at him and behind him. Not that he needed her cue—he had already felt the presence creeping up behind him. He sighed. So it came to this.

Exploding into motion, he jumped to his feet and flipped the table. In that same moment, he used the Force to fling his chair backward, hearing the sound of wood cracking as it struck the trandoshan behind him. Spinning around, he lashed out with his fist and struck his fully-armored opponent in the nose. His knuckles came away bloody, and the trandoshan snarled.

Doors around the room burst open, and more bounty hunters poured into the room. Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber then, jumping over the trandoshan he had struck and landing square behind him as the room erupted into blasterfire. He spun as he landed, carving through the trandoshan's legs with his lightsaber. He thrust out his empty hand, using the Force to throw the legless body into a cluster of three other bounty hunters.

Dashing forward, he let his blade guide him completely. He severed arms and legs, never striking to kill. Blaster bolts filled the air, but none of them could touch him. His lightsaber kept him safe, knowing instinctively where it needed to be at each moment. He slid between the forms master Jinn had taught him, effortlessly disarming and dismembering every trandoshan in sight.

When the last of the bounty hunters had fallen to the floor, he extinguished his blade and placed it back at his belt. He took a deep breath, and regretted it almost immediately. The air stank of burnt flesh. He walked over to one of the trandoshans, the only one which had managed to remain conscious. He picked him up by the chestplate on his armor, holding the lizardlike face close to his own. It was Trassk.

"My arm…you cut off my arm!"

"Oh, shut up—you'll grow another one. Where did you put the wookies?"

"The…the wookies? Why does a Jedi care about a couple of kriffing space monkeys?"

"Just tell me." He used the Force to plunge into the trandoshan's alien mind, breaking down what brittle willpower Trassk had left. His mind was in no better condition than his body.

"In the back room…there's a secret door to the cellar. Just don't…don't kill me. It was…just…a job."

Obi-Wan dropped him without a reply, walking into the indicated room. It didn't take long to find the hidden door, and he cut through the lock without any trouble. He descended into the lightless cellar, and was suddenly being mauled by a pair of hairy fists. Trying not to panic, he growled a phrase in shyriiwook. The blows stopped, and a question was barked at him from the dark. Was he here to save them?

"I am Jedi," he replied in his shaky use of the wookie tongue. "I have a ship coming here soon. Come with me."

He climbed out of the cellar, followed by three young wookies. They couldn't have been any more than a few decades old—they were no larger than him. They walked into the main room, completely destroyed after his battle with the trandoshans. Trassk had passed out, slumped onto the floor. One of the wookies stomped over to him and threw the wounded trandoshan over his shoulder. Obi-Wan eyed the wookie closely, listening as it snarled something at him. The criminal must pay for his crimes.

"Yes," Obi-Wan began speaking in basic once more, "but let's wait until we return to your planet. I'm sure that your people will give him the proper punishment. Come now, I can hear the ship coming."

They stepped outside as the space barge was touching down. The ramp lowered, and Obi-Wan approached the captain with credits in hand.

"Here's the second half of your payment, as agreed."

"You didn't mention we'd be bringin' one of those lizard-men back with us. I'd have charged extra."

"Well then, I'm glad I didn't say anything. That's all the money I have."

The ramp closed behind them, and the ship lifted off. It left the atmosphere without any problem, and it was a short trip back to Kashyyyk. The planets were in the same system, so it took nothing more than a quick microjump to reach their destination's orbit.

After they had returned, Tarfful and Kormak threw a feast. Obi-Wan and Yoda were offered gifts for their help—a pair of creatures called kybucks. It was a sign of great respect, and they had no choice but to accept. Refusing a gift of such magnitude would have been a grave insult. When the feast had ended, Yoda pulled Obi-Wan aside.

"Return to Dantooine now, we must. Time it is, for you to become a Jedi Knight."


	17. Knighting

Obi-Wan stood in the center of the Dantooine Council's chamber. The chamber was an open-air structure built of a blindingly white stone which never seemed to get dirty, despite the countless booted feet that trod on its floor every day. It was a special place—it had a certain feel to it in the Force, a sensation of timelessness. Here, he sometimes felt as if he could commune with Ken Obi's spirit. Like the things he thought and felt were resonating with the will of his unwitting father.

This was one of those times. He was surrounded by the Small Council—Masters Yoda, Windu, Koon, and Nu. Each of them stood before one of the four pillars which held up the vaulted ceiling above, their lightsabers raised to shoulder height. Their blades were pointed upward, held with both hands—a salute from one Jedi to another. It was a symbol of equality.

He couldn't help but notice, however, that the masters' placement left the exits to the chamber easily accessible. One last chance to escape his destiny, should he choose to do so. He knew it would be his last. Even so, he felt no urge to run. Not now. He had spent too many years reaching this point to back down now. He was no longer the frightened child who needed to run in order to survive.

Master Yoda stepped forward, the tip of his weapon coming up to about chest height on Obi-Wan. He knelt down before his master, bowing his head in a show of fealty and surrender.

"When first you came here, only a boy you were. After years of dedication and training, ready you are to join our ranks. Five trials there are, for a Jedi to pass. Passed them all, you have. Name them for you now, we will."

"The trial of flesh," Master Windu offered, "was one which you had passed before you even knew who you were. You suffered at the hands of cruel scientists, who sought to understand your abilities at the cost of your comfort and safety. Your childhood—the happiest time in most beings' lives—was stolen from you and replaced with a life of captivity and pain. The council has decreed your suffering at the hands of your captors sufficient proof that you can bear the suffering that all Jedi must face."

"The trial of insight was also accomplished before your arrival here." Master Nu was speaking now.

"In your captivity, at the end of your time of bondage, you came to a number of revelations which led you to your destiny. First, you learned of your origins—your genetic original, Jedi Master Ken Obi. Second, you were also able to learn of your captors' intentions to kill you, and were able to escape death and flee to the surface of Coruscant. Thirdly, you were able to make your way to Dantooine and recognize your destiny as a Jedi. The council has decreed your wisdom as sufficient for the role of Jedi Knight."

"Passed while on Ossus, you did, the trial of spirit. Confronted by a terrible vision, you were. Unknown to us, the exact nature of this vision, but know we do that it moved you deeply. A ghost from your past, you faced while constructing your lightsaber. Faced it boldly, you did, defeating your weakness and proving yourself to be strong of will. Decree, the council does, that your mastery over yourself is worthy of the title Jedi Knight."

"The trials of skill and courage were both passed at once." Master Plo spoke, his words scratchy from behind his breath mask.

"During your rescue of the wookie children on Trandosha, you tracked down the bounty hunter known as Trassk and entered into his home alone, knowing that you were walking into a trap. You sprung the trap not out of foolishness or hasty impulsiveness, but out of confidence in your abilities and training. You were able to detect the approaching danger of your enemies, striking not out of fear but out of knowledge that self-defense was necessary. The council decrees your bravery in the face of danger worthy of advancement in the order."

"You overpowered your attackers, though they had superior numbers and firepower. Not only were you able to defeat your enemies, as could any being with enough strength and training, but you also spared them death. You reacted with no more force than necessary, balancing your oaths as a Jedi to the sacredness of life with your need to protect yourself and rescue the captives you had been pursuing. It is easy to kill in such circumstances, yet you had the skill and self-control to leave your attackers alive to face the consequences of their actions. The council finds your ability sufficient for the title of Jedi Knight."

"Have you anything to add, Padawan Obi-Wan?"

Master Yoda looked into his eyes, probing into the depths of his soul. He looked back at his master, returning his gaze and seeing the weight of centuries spent in service to the Jedi order. The being he knelt before now was old and powerful, wise and experienced far beyond anything he could ever become. And yet, he seemed confident in Obi-Wan's ability to serve as a Jedi Knight. That was enough for him.

"Nothing, master."

"Good. Now, dub thee I do, Jedi Knight."

The glowing blade passed over his head in an ancient sign of ascension. He could feel the heat washing over him, enveloping his being with a glowing warmth. This was where he was meant to be. It had been Ken Obi's path, and it would be his as well.

"A changing point in your life, this is. A step in the shadow of your progenitor. Rise now, Obi-Wan, son of Ken Obi."


End file.
